Roll Camera
by SpacePrincess'xo
Summary: Carla and Peter have often been referred to as 'the Burton and Taylor of the Street' - so why not give them a Hollywood romance of their own? Teenage rough girl Carla Donovan lands her dream role in a new film opposite Hollywood heartthrob Peter Barlow. When she finds that her married co-star isn't the charmer that he pretends to be, will she be the one to help fight his demons?
1. Scene One

**Carla and Peter have often been referred to as 'the Burton and Taylor of the Street' - so why not give them a Hollywood story of their own?**

 **Carla is a teenager from a rough background in Manchester with wide eyes and big dreams. Peter is a former Hollywood heartthrob, the prodigal son of one of the most adored actors of the century. When Carla lands a role in a film opposite the married superstar, she finds herself drawn to his eyes, his charm, and his battered leather jacket.**

 **A story of sex, scandal, drugs, drinking and early set calls, it was almost rated M - we'll see how it goes. It'll feature a whole cast of Corrie favourites - and I'd like to note, I started writing the plans for this ages ago, and I, for some reason, selected Robert to be a key figure in the drugs storyline - coincidence much?**

 **This romance is based on a real-life celebrity love story (if you can call it that) that is not that of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. You may be able to guess what it is - feel free to! Anyone who wants Peter to constantly be all fluffy and full of cuteness, please look elsewhere!**

 **I would really appreciate your feedback! I'm trying to make these chapters about 3,000 words long, and I also start back at university next week. I'll do my best with updates.**

 **I really hope you guys like it! Any questions, comments or criticism, please feel free to ask.**

 **Thank you,**

 **Chloe xoxo**

* * *

Roll Camera

 _I was running. From what, I'm not exactly sure, but I could hear the heavy thudding of footsteps behind me, and I daren't look back. My heart was pounding so loudly that I could hear the throb in my ears; it felt as though my head was about to explode._

 _As I rounded the corner, I gasped in horror as I found myself facing a blank brick wall – a dead end. This was it. I closed my eyes and took a deep, calming breath as the footsteps slowed and my stalker's frame blocked the light from the one streetlamp around us, their shadow that cast over me turning the air cold. I turned, and I was met with eyes startlingly similar to my own. My little brother, Rob, smirked menacingly. I could have laughed with glee. Rob didn't scare me. But I twitched as more footsteps became apparent, and a few other figures suddenly appeared behind Rob's lanky teenage form. Most of his friends, his 'gang', were older. Some had been to prison. They all, however, had one thing in common: they hated me for dobbing them into the police months ago for the dubious drugs deals that they had committed from my own living room – amongst other things. I'd seen only snippets of what they were capable of._

 _I heard one of the thugs laugh. Then another. Soon, they were all joining in, laughing at me as I backed into the cool brick wall behind me with no way out. Rob's lips curled up into a twisted snarl, and his eyes, the same as mine, glimmered with wickedness._

 _"_ _Carla…" he hissed. It didn't sound like his voice. It scarcely sounded human. "Carla… Carla… Carla…" One by one, the other voices joined in, the figures approaching me, forcing me to shrink to the floor._

 _"_ _Carla… Carla… Carla… Carla… Carla…" I squeezed my eyes shut. There was nothing I could do._

 _"_ _Carla… Carla… Carla…"_

"Carla! For god's sake, will you flamin' well wake up!" I fought against my eyelids as they dazedly fluttered open, furrowing my brow in confusion as I was aggressively shaken into consciousness.

"Mm…?" I mumbled, blinking continually as I tried to adjust to my bright bedroom lighting. I was staring up into wide, brown doe-eyes that shone excitedly, and a toothy grin almost as blinding as the light. "What time is it?"

"Six-thirty."

"Michelle, what the hell?" I groaned, rolling onto my side and trying to shield my face under my duvet. My bedsheets were damp, and my nightdress clung to my body and the coating of cold sweat that covered it, a remnant of my weird dream. I needed more sleep, preferably some that wasn't plagued with memories of the past.

"Get up!" my best friend sung, launching herself on top of me, straddling my body despite my cries of pain and wrestling me onto my back again. We had been sharing a flat in London for the last three months, and I was beginning to see why they don't suggest living with your best friend. Sometimes, I wanted to kill her.

"I don't have work until eleven. Leave me alone," I complained, still refusing to open my eyes. Indignantly, Michelle bounced a couple of times before smacking me across my forehead with what felt like a heavy bunch of papers, perhaps a newspaper or a magazine. "Ow!"

"You've got a letter."

"From?"

"Francis Films." Now I was awake.

"What does it say?"

"I didn't open it. I wanted to, but I felt bad." I practically pushed Michelle off my lap as I sat up straight, snatching the letter from her hands. I stared at it, and sucked in a shaky breath. The contents of this letter could change everything for me.

Two and a half months ago, I'd attended an audition in the centre of London, completely on a whim. It was an open audition for a B-list fantasy film, and I'd stumbled across the advertisement in the newspaper. At first, I almost hadn't given it a second glance.

Michelle and I had moved to London with her two-year-old son, Ryan, to chase our dreams. She was an aspiring singer, who spent her weekdays working in a record shop and her weekends gigging around London's club scene while I babysat. I, meanwhile, was an actress – or, at least, I was attempting to be one. I'd had an agent back home in Manchester, but after several failed auditions and one single-frame shot in a car insurance television advert, I'd made the decision to move to the home of bright lights and glitter. If I was going to find success anywhere, it was in London.

So, I'd given myself a pep talk. Why had I dragged my size eight backside over two hundred miles down south if I was just going to glance over any opportunities I had? Why was I bothering to slog my guts out working full-time in a shoe shop in the country's most expensive city if I could live practically rent-free back home? Auditions should be viewed as a chance to improve – wasn't that what they said in showbusiness?

I'd fired off an email to the casting director's assistant, and she'd sent me back an audition pack, with a few excerpts of the script. It wasn't bad. It wasn't exactly Woody Allen or Steven Spielberg, but who was I to be choosy? Chances were, the film would be a moderate success, have a mixed bag of critics and fade into oblivion within the next five years. It would be a good film, but nothing with staying power. And the girl that they would choose for the lead role that I was auditioning for, Princess Elara, would likely have featured as a minor character in a few British Cinema films, as well as have dozens of television roles under her belt. They were insisting on casting an unknown – but as I'd come to learn, being 'unknown' in the world of showbusiness didn't really get you anywhere.

The audition had been fun. I'd read lines with the casting director into a camera. Later that day, I'd received a call back for the following week. When I showed up, I realised, so had hundreds of other girls. This time had featured screen tests, headshots and more line reading. I spent hours at the London studio, which seemed to empty as the day went on. I left expecting nothing, but having had an enjoyable time all the same. Plus, I'd gained experience, as well as a stack of photographs to add to my portfolio. As the weeks had passed, the audition had faded into a memory, and I'd almost forgotten about it.

Until today.

Casting directors rarely contacted you unless they wanted you. My breath was caught in my throat. Maybe they'd liked me and wanted to use me as an extra. I felt a bubble of excitement in the pit of my stomach, which I tried to calm. Paid extra work in a cinematic release would look fantastic on my resumé. It would give other casting directors something to look at in the future, at least.

"Carla, for crying out loud, just open it!" Michelle squealed, before slapping a hand over her mouth to avoid waking her young son at such an early hour. I met her excited gaze and smiled nervously, before tearing open the envelope's seal. In my anxious state, I made a complete mess of the envelope and ended up ripping it down the side. My hands trembled as I opened the first document inside. The words on the letter were a blur.

Just a blur.

They didn't even make sense. My eyes scanned them several times, on each occasion taking in parts of the sentences but leaving out others. 'Dear Miss Donovan', 'congratulate you', 'successful audition'. 'Very pleased', 'delighted to inform you', 'join our production'.

'£18,000'.

'Lead role'.

'Princess Elara Romano'.

I couldn't breathe.

"Carla…?" Michelle prompted, eyeing my open mouth and dazed expression with concern. I swallowed hard as I felt a confusing wave of emotion wash over me: part fear, part excitement, part disbelief, and part nausea.

"… I got it, Michelle…"

* * *

I hugged my fluffy dressing gown around my slim form as I padded into the kitchen, rubbing my eyes, which were still weary from sleep. Michelle was absent-mindedly stirring a cup of coffee, and offered me the other, which I gratefully accepted. Dropping my mobile phone onto the kitchen table, I leant back against the counter and cupped the mug with my hands.

"Where's Ryan?" We'd woken the poor little soul up with our screams. And probably half the city along with him.

"Crashed out on the sofa. He's got another hour or so in him yet."

"Poor mite…" We drifted into silence as I slowly sipped my scorching hot coffee, my eyes fixed on the offending letter, which sat pride of place at the centre of the table beside my discarded phone. "I called work. Told them I had some flu thing and I'd let them know later if I'd be in in the morning."

"Did they believe it?"

"Why wouldn't they? I can fake a blocked nose, I'm an actress-…" My heart lurched at my words, and I gulped down another burning mouthful of coffee to steady my nerves. That phrase, that I usually threw around so nonchalantly, suddenly had a real meaning. 'I'm an actress,' I would tell people cheerfully at parties, or bars, or anywhere other than family gatherings, 'Oh, well, I've not been _in_ anything yet. I'm just training. It's a lot of hard work, being an actress'. To my family, I worked in retail. I always would. Maybe, if I behaved myself, I might become a retail manager one day. Maybe. Until today.

Now, I was an actress. A real one. And I'd never been so terrified in my life.

"So what happens now?" Michelle asked, cautiously. After the initial excitement had worn off and we'd screamed our throats raw, jumped around my bedroom in our nightdresses like a couple of teenagers who had just been asked to prom and woken Ryan in the process, the reality had set in. I was nineteen-years-old. I was suddenly going to have to quit my job, maybe move again, and would spend the next few months on a film set with a bunch of actors who were actual, proper actors with experience and credits to their names. For my first real role, I had been expecting an extra part in a TV movie that would fit in around my day job, or possibly even a bit-part in a television drama that required me to take a couple of weeks off for 'educational commitments'. This was a very different situation.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't expecting to win an Oscar at the next ceremony. As I stated, the film wouldn't be a huge hit. But on its release to cinemas, I would become known to the cinematic world. Other casting directors would see me as 'that girl who played the Princess in _New Horizons_ '. That was the film's production title. I didn't really know much about it, other than that it featured a princess – me – and some pirates, and that the director has big dreams about turning it into a trilogy. Though, of course, that wouldn't necessarily mean that _I_ would be featured in any sequels; I was only contracted for one film.

"The letter says that I have to meet with Roy Cropper, the director, in Iver Heath next Wednesday afternoon."

"Where on Earth is that?"

"Buckinghamshire. About an hour and a half's drive from here. They've said they'll put me up in a hotel the night before, but I may as well leave in the morning."

"Have you heard of this Roy Cropper bloke?"

"No. He's not well-known. He was at the call backs, and Mike, the casting director, reckons he's some kind of creative genius. He can't write for shit, though. His lines are like tongue-twisters."

"Best get used to it though, kid. Don't go complaining on your first day, you'll get kicked out," Michelle teased, setting her empty mug down on the counter before easing mine from my hands, which I'd been distractedly gnawing on in apprehension, "Are you going to call your mum?" I shook my head.

"No point. She wouldn't understand. She'd think I'd got the lead in another amdram or something." Michelle affectionately patted my shoulder as she brushed past me, moving towards the living room to check on her stirring toddler.

"What about Rob?" I shuddered as I thought back to my dream this morning. In the excitement, I'd almost managed to banish it from my memory. My little brother had recently narrowly avoided being sent to a Youth Offender's Institution, all because I'd turned him and his 'friends' in to the police when it looked like things were going to get violent in their little drug ring. A couple of his 'friends' hadn't been so lucky. Somehow, I didn't think that he would be overjoyed for me and my success.

"I don't want to get anyone's hopes up. The film might be crap."

"It might," Michelle agreed over her shoulder, "But a film's a film. It's better than a shoe shop."

I had to agree with that one.

* * *

I combed my fingers through my freshly-straightened hair as I scrutinised my reflection in the mirror. I looked pretty, but I hated the image all the same. As Michelle drifted into the reflection behind me, I gave her a small, uneasy smile.

"Does this look alright?" I asked, tentatively. I toyed with the hem of my little tartan mini skirt; I'd teamed it with a cream turtleneck vest top, and chunky heels at the end of my long, slim legs. I didn't want to look too dressed up. Michelle slung an arm around my shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

"You look perfect," she insisted, "What time have you got to be there?"

"One. But I didn't want to leave too late. I'll be back as soon as I can. What time are you working?"

"Don't worry about that. I'll get Katie from downstairs to watch Ryan if you're not back." I turned to face my best friend. I could tell from her expression that she was almost as excited as I was. She cupped my face in her hands. "Knock 'em dead, kid." She quickly kissed my forehead before stooping to grab my handbag from the floor and handing it to me. I drew in a long breath in an attempt to calm my nerves before pulling open the front door and stepping into the hallway or our block of flats.

Just over a week had passed since I'd received the letter that had changed everything for me. In that time, I'd tried to plan the way that my life would pan out once I started my new career. I had handed in my notice at the shoe shop. At first, I'd toyed with the idea of keeping my job and merely going on a sabbatical for a few months, just in case this role proved to be a one-off and I never received any more acting work because I was awful and the casting director had made a mistake. Then I decided that, whatever the result of this film, I wouldn't be returning to my minimum-wage job working as sales assistant in a shoe shop. Worst case scenario, I would take a few more months off – after all, I'd be able to afford it – and get a new job later on in the year.

The drive to Iver Heath was mind-numbingly long, but gave me ample opportunity to contemplate the meeting that I was about to attend. I would be meeting with Roy Cropper, the eccentric director and the man who had chosen me out of the thousands of other girls who wanted this role. The entire idea for _New Horizons_ was his own.

As well as Roy, it had stated in the letter that the other lead actors would also be in attendance. From reading the casting call notes, I knew that the other main characters were Joshua, a damaged fugitive, and Cassius, the cold-hearted captain of a pirate ship. I assumed the men playing them would be at the studios today, too, but I had no idea whether other members of the fairly large cast would show their faces.

Finally, I drove up to the gate of Pinewood Studios and flashed the security guard my ID, giving me a very great sense of self-importance. I pulled my car into the nearest bay in the huge parking lot and tried to give myself a few minutes just to gather my thoughts and to mentally prepare. Chances were, the other actors would be experienced; at the very least, they had probably been on a film set before, even merely as extras. I'd tried to Google who my colleagues would be, but it seemed that Francis Films were remaining tight-lipped on casting matters until the press release in a couple of weeks' time.

I pulled down the sun visor, which doubled as a mirror, and examined my reflection. I'd woken up early that morning to give me time to perfect my appearance – I wanted to give the director and the other actors the best first impression, to convince them that I was the right poster girl for their film. Even though I'd already got the job, I felt like I had something to prove. I'd gone heavy on the mascara front, elongating and thickening my dark lashes, and had used a fair amount of bronzer to contour my cheeks. I was paranoid about the puppy fat that remained from my youth and, after all, the camera adds ten pounds. Any trickery would be a bonus.

"Pull yourself together," I scolded myself. With one final glance at my bold eyes and trembling lips, I snapped the visor shut and swung my legs out of the car, striding with mock-confidence towards the main studio reception. It was time for the meeting that would change my life – for better and, I suppose, for worse.


	2. Scene Two

**I hope you all liked the idea! I'm really enjoying writing it - and I'm hoping that it'll be better and more compelling when I start to bring in a host of characters who will interact with each other.**

 **Bonnie Sveen Fan - thank you ever so much for your review! It really means a lot to me to know that people are reading.**

 **Also, you have been warned - at first, you will not like Peter. He is troubled.**

 **The other thing that I would like to note is that Carla will regain the feistiness that we all love about her soon enough. At the moment, she is being very sweet and compliant; that will change.**

 **Just to let you know, I have taken the liberty of altering a lot of the characters' ages for this fanfic. Carla is nineteen, and Peter is still ten years older. But I've aged Leanne to about twenty-four - if I'd kept her the same age, Peter would have been married to a thirteen-year-old - and Nick is also nineteen. I'll explain the ages of the other characters as and when they appear, but most of them are in their early-mid twenties, with the exception of the older generation.**

 **I hope you like this update! Please let me know!**

 **Chloe xoxo**

* * *

The heavy pounding of blood rushing past my ears was so loud that I was actually afraid that I would pass out as I cautiously pushed open the door of Conference Room One at Pinewood Studios. The tables had been pushed to the edges of the room, and in the centre were four chairs positioned in a circle; three occupied, one empty. Leaning against the door to shut it, I glanced at the faces of my company, and the first face that I saw made me freeze on the spot.

He barely raised his head to look at me, but I would recognise those deep brown eyes anywhere. Peter Barlow had had a respectable acting career in his late teens that had ended rather abruptly around five years ago. I should know; Peter had been the teen heartthrob for my generation, the poster that had hung on the wall of every thirteen-year-old in England. I had no idea why he'd dropped off the radar.

To top it all off, he was the prodigal son of one of Hollywood's most adored Golden Age actors, Ken Barlow, who had stolen the hearts of the world in the 1950s and 60s. Peter had inherited his father's charming good looks, with dark, mysterious features that instantly had you hooked. And then I realised that I had been staring at my childhood crush for longer than was socially acceptable and quickly cleared my throat.

"Hi…" I mumbled, my voice shaking with nerves. I forced an unsure smile.

"Carla, nice to see you," the man next to Peter replied. I moved my eyes to him instead. He was older – I couldn't place an exact age on him, he looked to be around forty at a rough estimate – but his choice of clothing could easily have added ten years. His cardigan hung limply off his shoulders, and he his pale blue shirt was buttoned almost to the top. I recognised him as Roy Cropper, the director, who had been at the call backs but had said few words. "P-please, sit down…" His stammer surprised me, but I moved to the group and took the empty chair opposite him. I used the opportunity to glance to his other side.

The boy sat beside him – he could only be described as a boy, he barely looked my age – was blond and bright-eyed, and he was shooting me the widest, most excited-looking grin that I had ever seen. He had a bulk of papers on his lap, and highlighters in various colours balanced on his knee. I smiled back, apprehensively. He looked so thrilled to be here, a stark contrast to Peter, who had barely looked up from his phone.

"Now you're all here, I'd… I'd like to take the opportunity to welcome you all to the production," Roy continued, handing me a huge booklet identical to the blond boy's, "Please look after your scripts, we… We haven't got the budget to replace them." Peter snorted obnoxiously, and slipped his phone into his pocket. I looked down to the script in my hands, the words ' _New Horizons_ : Directed by Roy Cropper' plastered across the front, and felt a thrill run through me.

"Carla, this is Peter Barlow." Roy indicated Peter, who merely nodded to me in acknowledgement. Like I needed telling. "Peter has had a hugely successful acting career, and has appeared in a number of films shot in his hometown of the United States. We're delighted to have him join us for this production." I had a feeling that the words that Roy was saying weren't his own. He then smiled at the blond boy, who was staring at Peter in awe and admiration. "And this is Nicholas Tilsley. Nicholas has appeared in numerous television advertisements, but this is his first cinematic release, too."

Nicholas held out his hand, which I gratefully accepted.

"Please call me Nick. No one calls me Nicholas, ever."

"Carla Donovan. Glad I'm not the only newbie to all of this." I could feel Peter's disinterest, and saw him check his phone again out of the corner of my eye.

"Now you're all here, I want to take a few moments to… To really explain what the piece is about." I almost scoffed. _Piece_. I was a B-list film at best. Roy shuffled to sit up straight in his seat and drew in a deep breath. "The main theme of the film is the discovery of who one truly is. All three of your characters have their own journeys throughout the film, a mental one as well as the physical one that they experience together. Captain Cassius Carter, Peter's character, is the attractive male icon."

At this, Peter briefly glanced up from his phone. Roy gave him a small, nervous smile, which Peter returned before averting his eyes once again.

"He's the captain of the Jolly Cutlass, a misunderstood type, cold at first but with a heart of gold underneath. His focus is to retrieve Amphitrite's Jewels; we later discover that Amphitrite, who was the ruler of Armedia many years ago, was the Captain's mother, who died when he was a child. His brother is Captain Russo Stromeyer, the film's antagonist, who will be played by Robert Preston. Robert is yet another very successful young man who we are thrilled to have on board with us. I'm sure you're familiar with some of his works."

I was. Robert Preston's success wasn't quite on the scale of Peter's Hollywood royalty, but he was a former child star who was famed for being a reckless wild child and had disappeared from the screen in recent years. Then, Roy turned to smile warmly at Nick, who had been watching him the entire time with wide, fascinated eyes.

"Then we have young Joshua Kittler. Joshua was raised in care – the parents that he never knew were murdered in cold blood when he was very small. He was sent to prison for starting a fire that killed a man – though he has no idea how it occurred. It is later revealed that he harbours an ability to control the elements. A fugitive from the law, he escapes from prison and hides aboard Cassius's ship, unwittingly joining him on his quest. And that leaves our Princess." I felt my heart flutter in excitement as Roy's gaze met mine. His words had sped up as his story developed, his adoration for his work shining brightly behind his eyes.

"Princess Elara Romano suddenly finds herself the next in line to the throne after her uncle dies. She is adamant that she doesn't want to be queen, and flees the palace. She, too, ends up on board the Jolly Cutlass, disguised as a man. Cassius reluctantly allows her to stay. She frequently experiences bizarre, meaningful dreams, and has a strength greater than any man twice the size of her. Like Joshua, she has a power. At the end of the film, Elara agrees to become Stromeyer's prisoner in exchange for Amphitrite's Jewels." I was surprised to find my skin tingling at Roy's words. The idea of starring in this film, despite its' flaws, still failed to seem real to me. Roy continued.

"As you can probably gather, there isn't a 'lead' actor in this production. It's a team piece. Therefore, all of you shall move to Iver Heath and live on-set in trailers during the week." At this, Peter's attention was suddenly gripped, and his head shot up as he dropped his phone into his lap.

"I beg your pardon?" he demanded, but was silenced as Roy raised a hand.

"There will be no romance between co-stars. That is a rule insisted upon by Francis Films. They have also requested a closed set. That means strictly no visitors. Security will be extremely tight-"

"This wasn't in my contract, Roy."

"Mr Barlow, we can discuss this privately after the meeting, if you so wish." I was impressed by the sudden power that Roy seemed to have harnessed. He'd turned from a stammering wreck into a real director, a transformation which had developed as he'd spoken so passionately about his project. "Filming will commence at the end of the month. You will have moved on-site prior to Monday 29th August, which will be the first day of rehearsals and shooting. I shall send you a copy of the daily call sheets as and when they are produced. Mr Tilsley and Miss Donovan, I will also send your contracts to you, which need to be signed and returned to the studio as soon as possible. If there are any questions, feel free to contact me at any time. I look forward to working with you all."

That was it. Meeting dismissed. We all rose to our feet and Roy shook hands with each of us in turn in a ceremonial manner. Peter regarded Roy's outstretched hand with irritation, but mirrored us and reluctantly shook it. As Roy began to sort through a folder full of paperwork and Nick's phone buzzed – a call from his mother, which he answered gleefully – I turned to Peter with a wide grin plastered across my face.

"Hi," I practically sung, my voice laced with nerves, "It's nice to meet you. I was a massive fan of your films when I were a kid. Like, massive fan." I was rambling, and I sounded like an idiot. Peter forced a smile.

"Thanks," he mumbled, somewhat distractedly. "You been in much?"

"Nothing. Well, I was in an advert. For car insurance." _A single frame of an advert, at least_ , I thought to myself.

"I see." Peter fell silent for a moment and checked his beloved mobile phone once again. "Well, it's nice to have the chance to work with some amateurs and show them the ropes. Excuse me." With that, he turned and skulked towards Roy, who had sat back down and was reading through the script, leaving me gobsmacked and looking like a prized fool. _What the hell?_

Fortunately, Nick saved me from my embarrassment, stepping in front of me and flashing me a sheepish grin.

"It's weird, isn't it?" he asked, vaguely. I blinked and shook my head, still trying to process Peter's bluntness through my mind.

"Hm? What is?"

"Knowing that this thing is going to change your life." Glancing over his shoulder, Nick ushered me towards the door of the room, a slight reddish tint appearing in the apples of his cheeks. "Sorry. I can't help but feel like a massive dork in front of him when I talk about myself. I'm just a regular kid from a complicated family in Manchester. He's a Hollywood blue blood."

"I know what you mean."

"I guess he'll loosen up once we've started filming. It must be hard, carrying around his kind of fame and winding up on a set with a bunch of nobodies."

"Doesn't give him the right to act like an arse," I mumbled, trying not to let his rude demeanour taint my excitement at the project ahead of me. The door clicked shut on His Highness and our director, who appeared to be engaged in a heated discussion with one another. "Anyway, forget him. When are you moving in?"

* * *

Peter folded his arms across his chest, his temper flaring. Roy, meanwhile, was typically calm, one could claim even nonchalant.

"If you'd told me about your pathetic little boarding-school clause, I never would have agreed to do this sodding film," the hot-headed actor snapped, "I know you're a mate of my old man's, but you need to remember that I'm not one of your fresh-faced newbies who still need parental control. Where the hell did you find them, anyway? The girl's a pretty little thing and I suppose the kid has that virgin vibe about him, but what kind of amateur laughing stock of a film are you trying to make here?"

"You needn't be so judgemental, Mr Barlow," Roy reasoned, rationally, "A director took a chance on you when you were a child and it was the start of a phenomenal career."

"I was different."

"And so are they. They bring to their characters something that we didn't get from any of the other candidates." He drew in a deep, exasperated breath and looked Peter dead in the eye. "It would also do you well to cease thinking that you are here as a favour to me. My friendship with your father has spanned over many years, but you are free to leave if you wish. The picture will continue without you. I presume, of course, that you are flooded with offers of other projects?" He raised an eyebrow, but Peter merely glared at him in response. "I thought so."

"You can't expect me to leave my wife in the States for six months, Roy."

"You shall have every weekend to do as you please."

"I can't dump her in a flat in London and visit at the weekends. I want her on set with me," Peter demanded, an almost pleading hint in his tone. He had met Leanne, his wife, in his early twenties. He had not long graduated from the Manchester drama school that he and his twin sister, Susan, had been sent across the world to at the tender age of six, and was starring in one of his first films as an adult actor. Leanne had been the teenage Production Assistant, fresh out of school. They'd fallen for each other, and when he moved back to Los Angeles to be near to his ageing father, she'd followed him. They had married, and had been happy since – at least, until Peter had fallen off the wagon a few years ago. Recently, there had been an intense strain on their marriage, something that Peter wasn't willing to admit but was sure wouldn't be helped by being in different time zones.

"I'm not making allowances for you and nobody else. There are other big names in this production, older actors; Jack Duckworth is going to be staying on set, and he isn't bringing his wife."

"His wife lives a few hours' drive up North. Mine lives an eleven-and-a-half hour plane journey away."

"My decision is final, Mr Barlow. Besides, Francis Films have set their own policies. Mr Foster is not a man you would care to argue with," Roy warned him. As if to end the conversation, he began to gather his belongings into his arms; various scripts, schedules and other documents. He started towards the door, but as he was leaving, he left Peter with one last remark. "The choice is yours. If you decide to resign, please let me know by Friday. There will be much work to be done."

* * *

Nick handed me a scrap of paper, upon which he'd just scrawled his telephone number. Like me, the thought of owning a mobile phone at such a young age hadn't even occurred to him. I smiled.

"I wish we could just get on set tomorrow," I admitted, longing to get started on what was going to be the most exciting adventure of my life so far.

"Me too. But, hey, I guess we need the time to spend a couple of weeks with our families. My mum's going to be heartbroken when I leave." Nick chuckled. Through the course of our short conversation, I'd found out a lot about his home life. He was the apple of his mother's eye; his father was dead, and he had a younger sister and brother who he lived with on a quaint-sounding little street in Manchester. They'd had their issues, and Nick had admitted to me that he'd been quite rebellious in his mid-teens, but it was clear that he loved his family very much and thought the world of his mother. He'd wanted to be an actor since he'd been in secondary school. It had taken a lot to convince his proud mother that acting was a viable career choice, but she'd relented when she realised how passionate Nick was. The thought of his close-knit, loving family sent a pang of longing through me.

"I suppose." The same definitely could not be said for me. My mother had barely batted an eyelid when I'd told her that I was moving to London. I would miss Michelle, but she would only be a short train journey away.

"We are definitely going out for a drink when we're here, though," Nick responded, heading with me in the direction of my car. He froze when he realised what he'd said, and his cheeks turned a rosy pink. "All of us, I mean. I hope they'll be other young people in the cast so we don't look like kids next to them." I couldn't stop a smirk appearing on my lips.

"Like a drink, do you?"

"Not really, but I'll have to get used to it if I'm going to be a film actor."

"This is hardly going to be _E.T._ , Nick. It'll be a small B-movie with a theatrical release at best. It'll come out on video, and those videos will pop up in charity shops in ten years time. Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this won't propel us into international stardom." Nick shrugged.

"You never know. Everyone has to start somewhere." I had to admit, his optimism was almost infectious. _Almost_.

"Yeah, and those people have usually had other long-forgotten films before what's known as their 'first'. We all know Robert De Niro, but no one knows him from _Greetings_."

"You're such a cynic."

"I'm not, I'm a realist." I unlocked my car and turned to face my new colleague, a man who I would work – and live – with for six months. "It was nice to meet you, Nick. I'll see you on moving in day."

"You'd better." For a moment, I thought that Nick was going to hug me; I was very glad that he didn't. Nick was nice, and I liked him, and he was pretty attractive, but I had never been a touchy-feely type. I even found Michelle too cuddly at times. Instead, I smiled awkwardly.

"See ya." With that, I slipped into the driver's seat and pulled the door shut behind me, taking a minute to just breathe. I had a job. An acting job, a real one. One of my co-stars was lovely. And the other was Peter Barlow. And he was an arse.


	3. Scene Three

**As always, thank you for the review :). I really do appreciate any feedback on this fanfic, because I'm putting a fair amount of time into it and I want to make sure I'm not boring anyone and am on the right track :).**

 **This chapter is slightly shorter, I think. Peter will become a much more prominent character in the next chapter - and you'll get to meet some of the rest of the cast, too! :)**

 **Hope you like it.**

 **Chloe xoxo**

* * *

Moving in day had arrived. I'd spent the evening before packing a suitcase with any essentials I'd likely need – I didn't know how much space I'd get in my trailer. I'd barely slept, as I'd spent the night tossing and turning in restless excitement. Then, at the crack of dawn, Michelle and I dropped Ryan off at our neighbour's flat and set off on the short drive to Iver Heath. Michelle was dropping me and my life-in-a-suitcase off, as I wasn't too sure how much parking would be available at the set. Plus, she was over the moon for the opportunity to nose around at my new home.

"Aren't you excited?" Michelle asked, frowning at my hesitation to clamber out of the car and the way that I had gnawed at my fingernails for the entirety of the journey. I shrugged, pausing for a moment to glance up at the large 'Pinewood Studios' sign across the front of the main building.

"I am," I assured her, my voice croaking somewhat, "It's just… I dunno."

"Scary?" I smiled at her response. I felt stupid and ungrateful for being so worried about what was about to happen; it had been all I'd wanted for years.

"Yeah, I guess." It was bizarre to think how much my life had changed in a few short weeks. I'd bypassed the 'extra' stage of showbusiness, where you spent a majority of your time pratting around waiting to be called to the set, and had gone straight into a lead role where people had certain high expectations of me.

I was so glad to have Nick, who was on a similar journey to my own. We'd texted a fair amount since our initial meeting, and he was a genuinely nice man. He was due to arrive at the studios later on, as his mother was accompanying him all the way down from Manchester. It would be nice to see him again, and would hopefully make my first night significantly less lonely.

I flashed my ID to the security guard at the gate, and we made our way around the outside of the building, into a sea of what seemed like hundreds of caravans. They were sectioned into cast and crew, and further into lead cast and supporting cast, who were predominantly unnamed extras who shared homes and would use them a few days at a time. The trailers for the lead cast were slightly larger than the others. Eventually, we found one with my name taped to the window, and my breath caught in my throat. I unlocked the door with the key that the security guard had given me, and took my first step inside my new home.

It was much nicer than I had thought it would be when I had judged it from the outside. There was a small dining room table beside the well-equipped kitchen, a sectioned-off area which boasted a leather sofa and a basic television – essentially a living room – and two closed doors, which I presumed were the bathroom and bedroom. The flooring was wooden, and the whole trailer was well-lit with round ceiling lights, which, to me, gave it a Hollywood-esque feel. I dropped my case to the floor and moved through to the bedroom. It was spacious enough, with a double bed pushed to the wall and a wardrobe, drawers and an empty shelf. The bathroom, too, was nice, and I was pleased to see that it contained a bath. I was partial to a bath on autumn evenings.

"Nice," Michelle commented from behind me, eyeing up her surroundings, "But they do realise you're entering September in England, right? I wouldn't like to be stuck in one of these in a rainstorm."

"Well, if it's good enough for Peter Barlow, it's good enough for me," I replied, lightheartedly.

"Speaking of, where is he? Do you think he's here?!" Michelle hissed, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she peered out of the window and scanned what she could of the area. Like me, she had grown up in an era in which Peter Barlow was the boy who every girl had pictures of on their bedroom wall, and fantasised about appearing from nowhere and asking to be their date to the end-of-year prom. I rolled my eyes, nonchalantly.

"Who knows? He's probably sweet-talked Roy into letting him stay in some fancy hotel instead."

"He can't be that bad."

"I'm not going to pre-judge him, but he's a Hollywood star. Of course he's going to think he's better than the rest of us – he is."

"Don't you go ending up with that attitude when you've got your name in lights, will you?" Michelle teased, and I shot her a smirk in response.

"Don't worry, kid. I'll still have time for all my regular friends when I'm not partying with Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise." We laughed together for a moment, and then a gloomy silence descended upon us as we realised that it was time to say goodbye. Neither of us wanted to admit it.

"I'd better get back to Ryan," Michelle finally announced, her voice shaking slightly, "You know what he gets like." I nodded, unable to speak for fear of surrendering to my emotions, and moved towards the door, leading my best friend out of my new home for the first – and last, for a while – time. Together, we headed back over to the car park, wanting to appreciate the last moments of company that we would have. Michelle's older brother, Liam, would be moving down to London to live with her and Ryan later that day, but it wouldn't be the same kind of companionship. Me and Michelle had only had each other for a while. In fact, I'd only had her for the last seven years and the entirety of my teenage life.

We walked arm in arm, trying to make light of the situation that we currently found ourselves in. We talked about the phone calls that we would make to one another, and the stories that I would have to share with her.

"If you end up seeing Peter Barlow topless, make sure you take a photo for me," Michelle had laughed. I promised to.

Suddenly, Michelle stopped dead in her tracks, her brown doe-eyes growing wide. I followed her line of sight and spotted Peter and another man who must have been about my age leaving the café and walking in our direction.

"Remember that he's a normal person…" I muttered to Michelle through gritted teeth, before forcing a wide smile and taking a step towards the two men, "Morning!" As he reached us, Peter nodded solemnly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

"Morning," he responded, gruffly. There was an awkward pause, before he sighed and continued. "Steve, this is… Carla?" My cheeks flushed scarlet as I gave an embarrassed nod. "Carla, this is Steve McDonald. He's a TV actor; he was in _Casualty_ for a few years."

So that's where I recognised him from – he had an unforgettable face. A face which was directed to Michelle, who he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of. Unfortunately, Michelle was still staring at Peter, completely transfixed. It was a rather comedic scenario.

"Oh, this is Michelle Connor, my best friend." As I introduced her, Michelle eagerly held out a hand, which Peter reluctantly shook, and breathed a 'hello' of her own. She shook Steve's hand, too, and his mouth almost dropped open as she did so.

"You know it's a closed set, right?" Peter replied, raising a judgemental eyebrow. I was taken aback at first, but narrowed my eyes at him.

"She only came to help me move in. She's going home now, aren't you, 'Chelle?" Michelle merely nodded, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes at her.

"I see." Again, the awkward silence returned, and a fog of tension settled over us. Eventually, Steve pierced the atmosphere by tearing his eyes from Michelle and instead meeting mine, offering me a friendly, welcoming smile. I instantly relaxed. Obviously, a television actor was good enough for the company of Peter Barlow. Despite this, perhaps Steve didn't harbour the same airs and graces as his friend.

"We're having a moving in party tonight, eight o'clock, Peter's trailer. All of the lead cast are coming, except for the oldies, they're moving in tomorrow instead. Join us if you want." A dark, disgruntled look came over Peter's face, and he dropped his head and stared at the floor. I pursed my lips, but did not comment on his demeanour.

"That'd be great. Thanks, Steve." I smiled, taking Michelle by the arm again and practically dragging her away from the pair. "See you later, yeah?" I called over my shoulder. Steve waved goodbye. Peter didn't respond.

* * *

We stood by Michelle's car for as long as we could without looking like idiots. We chatted about old times as we watched various people arriving to the set; young men with large suitcases strolling towards the crew's end of the site, a group unloading equipment off of the back of a lorry parked up front, a dowdy woman, who must have been a good ten years older than us, arriving alone, and again heading for the crew's trailers. So many new faces – but there I was, struggling to say goodbye to the face that I had relied upon for the last seven years.

"Do you reckon it'll be a bit weird living with Liam again?" I asked, teasingly, trying to steer the subject onto anything other than our impending farewell, "Is he still gonna have a go at you for bringing blokes home?" Michelle snorted.

"Carla, I think it was more you he was pissed off about. You know he fancied you!"

"No, he never!"

"He so did, he was well jealous," she giggled, a huge but sad smile on her lips at the memories of our reckless teenage years, of the times where we'd left Liam in charge of the baby while we'd gone out on the town. It hadn't happened often, but when Michelle had split up with Dean, Ryan's father, she'd needed to feel like more than just a teenage mother for a while. I sighed, softly.

"Give him a hug from me, will you? Oh, and tell him that if he brings any girls back and leaves their dirty underwear scattered around my bedroom, I'll chop off his balls and wear them as earrings!" I laughed, trying not to let the tears that were stinging my eyes escape and fall down my cheeks. "And give Ryan a big kiss from me, and tell him I love him."

"You know I will. If you need me, I'm only twenty-odd miles away. Call me, anytime."

"I'll hold you to that. Come 'ere." I stepped towards my best friend and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. With her, in moments like this, I couldn't be completely anti-physical contact. She responded by snaking her own arms around my waist, and I could feel her body shaking as she pretended not to be crying.

"Take care of yourself, please. And don't let the fame go to your head." We held each other for a while longer, before Michelle reluctantly pulled away and bravely looked me in the eyes. By now, I'd given up trying to be strong, and my eyes were bright red and my cheeks stained from my tears. Michelle had been there through absolutely everything; my horrible home life, my issues with my brother, the boy problems and the times where I'd almost given up on my dreams. Now, I was in this on my own.

"I love you, chick."

"I love you, too." She raised a hand in goodbye, before tearing her eyes from mine and getting into her car, unable to look back at me as she shifted the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking bay. I watched as she drove away, and didn't stop watching until the car was completely out of sight.

* * *

I eyeballed my reflection in the mirror on my dressing table as I rolled my powder brush around the apples of my cheeks, coating them in a pink blusher. I looked good. I'd always been pretty talented at making myself up; I had to be in my profession. I had a couple of coats of mascara on, a few different shades of brown eyeshadow, and a dark red lipstick brushed across my lined lips. Placing my brush down, I pouted, studying myself. Natural, but pretty. I needed to make a good first impression on the rest of my castmates.

Interrupting my thoughts, my mobile buzzed, and I hit the button to accept the call, quickly placing it on loudspeaker.

"Hello?"

"At least you don't sound like you've been bawling your eyes out; that's one thing." My lips curved up into a gleeful smile, and I rolled my eyes at the voice on the other end of the phone.

"Liam."

"Hi." His voice was hushed.

"How was the trek down from Manchester?"

"Lonely. Well, it was until Milton Keynes, anyway. Then some really hot bird sat next to me on the train, and I had a great time after that."

"Lovely." I snorted. Liam may have been the irritating big brother of my best friend, but we'd always been close growing up. Like his sister, he'd been there for me through some difficult times. "Anyway, what's up?"

"Oh, Michelle wanted to make sure you were okay, but she crashed out on the sofa about an hour ago," he explained, justifying his quiet whisper, "And if I can't provide a blow-by-blow summary of your day by the time she wakes up, I'll be homeless by tomorrow lunchtime."

"Well, prepare to be bored, sunshine, because I've done nothing since she left."

"You're seriously telling me that the glamourous Carla Donovan hasn't found an innocent, unsuspecting, hot actor to get her claws into?"

"I haven't even left my trailer." I couldn't help but smile as Liam mock-gasped. I glanced at my reflection again, before beginning to add a second coat of lipstick.

"Why not?" I shrugged, before remembering that he couldn't see me.

"Dunno. Just didn't really feel up for socialising." I pressed my lips together, and expertly brushed my finger along the outline of them to remove any rogue colour.

"What are you doing now?"

"Getting ready for a party." Liam fell silent on the other end of the line, and I checked the phone screen to make sure that I hadn't been cut off. As I opened my mouth to continue, his voice filled the room once again.

"Just… Be careful, Car." I frowned at the phone.

"I'm always careful, you div."

"No, I mean it this time. You're on your own there tonight, you don't know anyone… Don't let them get to you." I took Liam's words in, allowing them to settle into my mind. As much as his brotherly lectures irritated me, he was right.

"You don't need to tell me to be the strong one…" I reminded him, gently, my voice lowering in volume. I took the phone off of loudspeaker and held it to my ear, suddenly conscious of how loud the volume was. Liam sighed.

"I know. You tell yourself that all the time anyway… Text me tomorrow, yeah? Or Michelle, or, you know, whoever. Just let us know how you're doing."

"I will." He sounded embarrassed. I could tell by the awkward cough that followed.

"Goodnight, Car."

"Goodnight." I felt a pang of loss when the phone went dead, but I shook myself and rose to my feet, slipping into my stilettos. Dressed in a skintight pair of leather trousers and a fairly low-cut khaki shirt, I knew that I looked nice. On my way back from saying goodbye to Michelle, I'd had a quick explore around the trailer site; Peter's trailer was opposite my own, as they seemed to be arranged alphabetically. There was a section at the far side of the site where the four trailers belonging to the older members of the lead cast were separated from the rest of us. They would be empty until tomorrow – presumably, the producers wanted to save them the stress of being onsite for the first night party.

I took a deep breath and looked at myself in the mirror one last time, toying with my long, dark hair, which I'd spent a fair amount of time straightening. I didn't look like an actress. I was worlds away from the likes of Julia Roberts and Demi Moore. I lacked their grace, and their confidence in themselves. I was awkward, and gawky, and half the time I felt like an insecure teenager. I _was_ an insecure teenager. Suddenly, overnight, I was expected to become an adult. Although I'd practically raised myself and my brother from a young age, I was still naïve. I'd dropped out of school at fifteen, the most important job I'd ever held down was in a shoe shop, and I'd only had one serious relationship – and _that_ had ended horrifically. I was still just a kid.

Now, I needed to grow up. Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I grabbed a lightweight black jacket from my new coatrack and threw it over me, before pulling open the door of my trailer and stepping outside, fighting against myself to actually go out rather than hide in my bedroom for the rest of the night. I wasn't shy, just concerned at how different I was to everyone else; even Nick, who seemed to come from a happy home life with money and a good education.

At least I would have him tonight, though. Even if we weren't from the same walk of life, he seemed like a genuine guy, and I was sure that he wouldn't leave me standing on the sidelines like an outsider. As I stepped up to Peter Barlow's front door – the door of the actor whose poster had graced the walls of my bedroom as a thirteen-year-old – and raised my hand to knock, I forced a smile. Here goes nothing.


	4. Scene Four

**Sorry that this has taken so long. I've been through a rough time. I'm back now.**

 **I was inspired to carry on writing by last night's Carter hint (eeek!). But, please be warned, Peter is an absolute arsehole in this chapter. There is also a bit of bad language and sexual references midway through.**

 **Peter will soften up, I promise. And Carla will toughen up; I realise that she's currently being very uncharacteristically emotional, but remember that she has been stripped of the support network and familiarity that usually makes her so strong. She's only nineteen, and she's learning to fight for herself.**

 **I hope you like it - please leave me some feedback.**

 **Chloe xoxo**

* * *

It took a good thirty seconds for somebody to answer the door. A heavy thudding of music and ripples of laughter poured out of the windows; presumably, my first knock had been drowned out. My heart leapt into my mouth as I was greeted by Peter, who was clutching the neck of a beer bottle in one hand and gripping onto the door frame with the other. His eyes were glazed over, and he nodded at me, giving me a strained, forced smile.

"Come in and take a seat if you can find one. We've only got beers; cans and bottles are in the kitchen." With that, he swiftly turned his back on me and disappeared into the crowd of people, leaving me stood alone on the doorstep. I swallowed hard, surprised at how hurt I felt when I hadn't really expected him to act any differently. I apprehensively moved through to the kitchen, my eyes scanning across the various different figures gathered in the living room as I passed them. They were all male, not that I was surprised.

In the kitchen, I was relieved to find Steve McDonald propped up against the wall and grinning gormlessly at a slightly older man with tanned skin and dark, curly hair who was sat at the table. Noticing their company, Steve straightened his back and cleared his throat, his face turning red.

"Lloyd, this is Carla Donovan – she's playing the Princess. Carla, this is Lloyd Mullaney." Lloyd smiled warmly and tilted his bottle of beer towards me.

"You all right? Done much work before?" he asked. I obediently shook my head, giving my well-practiced answer.

"Nope, only an advert. Yourself?"

"I was in a sci-fi series for a while a few years back." I suddenly realised where I recognised the actor's face from, and was overcome with embarrassment. I grabbed a bottle of Corona from beside the fridge and cranked the top off with a conveniently-accessible bottle opener. I took a long swig before allowing myself to speak again.

"I'm not used to any of this. It's all so weird."

"None of us are used to this, kid. Movie sets are next-level. The only one in their comfort zone here is Peter." Right on cue, Peter's loud, obnoxious laugh filled the trailer and he appeared in the doorway, closely followed by tall Indian man and a red-faced blonde in a fluorescent pink Hawaiian shirt. The Indian man's eyes flicked to me and he looked me up and down, making my skin crawl. Peter, meanwhile, brushed past me as if I was invisible, retrieved a six-pack of beers from the fridge, and ushered his entourage back into the living room. I raised an eyebrow, quizzically. Steve stole a quick glance at the doorway leading into the living room to make sure that Peter's posse were out of earshot.

"The gay one is Sean. He's done a lot of stage work, but nothing in front of the camera. And the other guy is called Devandra. I don't know much about him, other than that he's married to some Bollywood actress," he explained, his voice comically hushed. I shuddered.

"He's creepy."

"He's an actor," Lloyd responded with a shrug, "We're all creepy."

* * *

The first hour of the party ticked by torturously slowly. We had all gathered in the living room, me on the one-seater sofa closest to the door. I'd mostly kept to myself, and had taken the opportunity to study the other actors surrounding me, a lot of whom made up a majority of Captain Cassius's crew, who Princess Elara would spend a large amount of time with.

Among the company was another gay actor, Billy, who Sean seemed to have taken a shine to, and the pair had been glued together for most of the evening. He was kind-faced and smartly dressed, and Steve had informed me that the man was extremely religious, but that his acting had largely overshadowed that.

Then there were two men named Kevin and Tim, who had worked together before and appeared to be very close friends. They had taken the youngest of the partygoers – aside from myself – under their wing. His name was Jason, and he was baby-faced but incredibly good-looking, almost as attractive as Peter himself. He lacked Peter's aura of confidence, however, the glint in his eye that showed that he knew that he was the fantasy of so many young women.

By my feet sat the infamous Robert Preston. We'd chatted for a while, but I hadn't dared to ask him the questions that I was intrigued to have answered. He seemed pretty calm and collected, and was clutching a bottle of non-alcoholic beer, unlike the rest of the room. As far as I was aware, he hadn't had a drink problem, but presumably drinking threatened to return him to the wild, irresponsible boy that he'd been in his youth.

In all honesty, I was beginning to regret going to the party. As nice as it was to meet the faces that I would be spending the next few months with, I didn't fit in – I was very much the oddball. I wasn't knocking back beers like tomorrow didn't exist, I had nothing to contribute to discussions about upcoming football matches, and I was conscious of the pairs of eyes that lingered on my cleavage and my leather trousers. I could feel the high levels of testosterone bubbling in the room, and I was a foreigner. In fact, I was just collecting myself to make my escape when the door of the trailer swung open and a familiar face stepped into the hallway. Nick flashed me a genuine grin.

"Hi, stranger," he greeted me.

"Hi yourself." Nick made his way over to the sofa and bent to wrap his arms around me. I relaxed, suddenly feeling safer in his company. It was weird; I'd only been texting him for a couple of weeks, but he already felt like a friend. As he stepped back, I noticed that he had a companion; a man with tanned skin and kind eyes who must have been around our age. Nick nodded to him.

"This is Kal Nazir, he's playing one of the shipmates, we met in the newsagents today. Kal, this is my friend Carla, she's playing Princess Elara."

"Nice to meet you, Carla."

"You too." Nick perched on the arm of my sofa, and Kal wandered into the kitchen in search of beer.

"How's it been?" Nick asked, lowering his voice as he leant in closer to me. He cocked his head towards Peter, who was laughing loudly over something that one of his minions had said. "How's _he_ been?" I shrugged.

"He hasn't really given me a second glance since I got here."

"Knocking them back, though, isn't he? I Googled him and read that he is a bit of a drinker."

"Can you name a Hollywood blue blood who isn't?" I hissed, watching in disgust as Peter tipped his head back and gulped down the remainder of his can of Carlsberg, his eyes bloodshot from the copious amount of alcohol that he had consumed. Then, he turned his head to the side and met my gaze. As our eyes locked, I felt an unexplainable shiver run through me, and I quickly looked away and started toying with my false nails in my lap. I didn't know if it was the embarrassment of the teenage years that I'd spent ogling pictures of him with Michelle, but there was something about Peter Barlow that made my cheeks burn and goosebumps to raise all over my body.

* * *

Another half an hour or so passed, and I was incredibly grateful to have Nick and Kal for company now. As the group got drunker, the ruckus got louder, until somebody suggested a drinking game. As we were well past the stage of sensible games like Ring of Fire, we'd opted for Truth or Drink instead, much to my dismay. Naturally, Peter had placed himself in charge of the first round of questioning. He cleared his throat dramatically, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the way he demanded attention.

"Alright… Easy one to start with, how many people have you slept with?"

"Three."

"Seven."

"Twelve."

Peter scoffed. "I don't think I can count high enough." The only person in the room who drank instead of answering was Nick from beside me, causing Peter to smirk smugly. "Thought you looked like the virgin type, Tilsley."

"I'm not a virgin, I just see women as a bit more than just a notch in my belt," Nick retorted, and my chest swelled with pride at his mature response. Peter laughed, though I could tell by his eyes that he was taken aback. In a quick attempt to distract from Nick's triumph, he tilted his can towards me. "Carla hasn't answered." I shrugged.

"One," came my honest answer. A few of the men muttered amongst themselves. Peter held my gaze in a challenge.

"Coming from the backstreets of Manchester?"

"I might not be Hollywood royalty, but that doesn't mean I've been brought up with my legs wide open." The room fell silent. Peter, however, didn't back down.

"Question two: what's the hardest drug you've done?"

"Weed."

"Everyone smokes weed, that doesn't count."

"It's a drug, isn't it?"

"So's paracetamol." A few chirps of 'weed' echoed throughout the room, and I was surprised to hear such a response from Nick. I felt a flinch by my leg, and noticed Robert lifting his drink to his lips from the corner of my eye.

"Crack." Peter shrugged, nonchalantly. "It's as popular as peanuts on Hollywood film sets." I narrowed my eyes.

"I haven't done anything," I admitted, showing no shame. Steve raised his eyebrows.

"Not even one spliff?"

"I don't like drugs." Like hell was I going to tell them why. Peter looked disappointed, almost bored, but then his wicked brown eyes lit up.

"Who would you most like to fuck in this room?"

"That's not a fair question!" I snapped, amongst a general chorus of 'Carla' (with the exception of the gay men in the room, of course, who answered with each other). Peter chuckled, shooting me a knowing smirk.

"Only because you don't want to admit it."

"Admit what?!"

"Well, you've already told me that you were 'such a massive fan' of mine when you were a spotty teenager," he said, using air quotes, "It's nothing to be ashamed of. Most of the teenage girls in Britain were thinking of me when they were rubbing one out." I rose to my feet and swung my handbag over my shoulder, my cheeks a bright shade of scarlet. It was obvious that Peter was absolutely plastered, all of his words slurred together like an incomprehensible mess, but that was no excuse for being a grade-A arsehole.

"Fuck you," I barked, glaring at him furiously, "And fuck your stupid party." On that note, I stormed out of the now-silent room and pulled open the front door. I didn't bother to shut it behind me as I almost ran down the trailer steps. I could hear footsteps behind me, but they seemed controlled, so I knew that it couldn't be my sparring partner.

"Carla-"

"Back off, Nick." He grabbed my forearm, causing me to spin around in panic, my green eyes wide, and I sucked in a sharp breath. I hated being grabbed like that. It brought back such fresh, vivid memories of the intense throbbing pain of bruising skin, of raised voices and of my stepfather's cold eyes boring into mine. It took me right back to being a scared, voiceless child, desperate to shield my little brother and to sacrifice myself in the process.

It's because of reactions like this that Liam had told me to be careful. He and Michelle knew only too well how drink could cloud my judgement and bring memories of the past flooding back to me. Whenever we'd been on nights out and a boy had tried it on with me, it didn't matter whether I fancied him or not; the smell of whiskey on his breath and his lingering hands would make my heartbeat thud in my ears and my vision blur. The boy would morph into George, my mother's husband, and the image would feel me with terror.

I had to shake myself to stop that from happening now.

"Hey…" Nick spoke softly, concern etched across his features as his hand fell to his side, "We're not all like Peter Barlow."

Breathe in. And out. In. And out. I let my eyelids flutter shut as I tried to control my tipsy mind. Eventually, I reopened them, and instantly felt like an idiot.

"I know. Sorry, I just… I've had too much to drink. I'm going to go and lie down."

"Do you want to stay with you for a bit?"

"I'm a big girl," I insisted, though I really could have used the company. I stepped towards him and quickly kissed his cheek, trying to give him a reassuring smile. "Have a nice night. Don't let the bastard get you down." Nick shook his head.

"I'm not going back over there."

"You don't have to stay away because of me."

"You're not the only one who feels like an outsider," Nick uttered, his voice low. I could tell that speaking such words was painful for him, as though talking about his feelings was the most humiliating thing in the world. Typical boy. "I'm not from this world either. Guys like Peter, they're alien to me. They've spent their lives on movie sets and going on wild nights out and bringing home a different girl every night. I live with my mum and my little brother and sister. If I'm not home by midnight, Mum panics and starts to ring round all of my friends' houses. It was only when I was fifteen and my stepdad caught me with a cigarette in my hand that I eventually convinced them to stop calling me 'Nicky'." I snorted at that one, and Nick glared at me in mock-annoyance. "We come from normal worlds."

'Normal'. Nothing about my home life had ever been 'normal'. But, of course, I wasn't about to admit that out loud. Instead, I forced a smile.

"Thanks, Nick. I'll see you in the morning." I struggled not to choke on the lump in my throat as I turned away from him and let myself into my trailer. Somehow, I managed to wait until I had firmly shut the door behind me before I let out a sob. I cupped a hand over my mouth to hold my emotions in until I'd heard his footsteps vanish into the night; only then would I allow my tears to cascade down my cheeks.

I shuffled into my bedroom and collapsed down onto my bed, my body shaking as the pent-up feelings that I had been hiding all day finally let themselves free. I missed home. I missed Michelle, and Liam, and the comfort that being around them provided. They knew everything about my story. I'd been friends with them since the start of secondary school. Michelle had been the one that I had cried to after the first beating that I had endured in order to keep George from my younger brother. Liam had been with me when I'd returned home from school to find my mother running a drug den from our kitchen table. They'd convinced their mum to allow both me and Rob to stay with them while our mum was AWOL so that we wouldn't be taken into care. I owed them everything.

I reached for my phone, which had slipped from my pocket and was now on the bed beside me. I sat up, crossing my legs, and tapped out a message that I was intending to send to Liam so that he would ring me, so that I could hear his voice.

' _You were right_.' I stared at the message for a while, the words blurring as tears filled my eyes once again. I was better than this. I never cried. I'd been through hell in my nineteen years, but I'd done so with a stiff upper lip. Sure, there had been plenty of times where it had all got too much and spilled over, but usually over something that mattered. Not over words. Not because of some stupid, pathetic boy pretending to be a man, who took to insulting others because the only thing that felt good was to be worshipped. To be godlike.

I should have been in my element. I had my dream job, I was surrounded by talented people, plenty of whom seemed nice and approachable. I was going to learn so much. I wasn't about to let my moment be spoiled by some bigshot Hollywood actor who used to be something before he fell off the wagon and suddenly wasn't anymore. A prince, who had grown up living the life of luxury at fancy boarding schools where acting jobs practically landed in his lap. With a father who adored him whilst being adored by the rest of the world. Ultimately, we were both here in the same position now, yet I'd had to claw myself up from the bottom of the barrel. Who did that make the powerful one?

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I quickly deleted the message and clicked my phone shut. I flicked off the bedside light that I had left on earlier that evening, kicked off my boots and stripped off my khaki top and my leather trousers. I unclipped my bra and wriggled out of my underwear before slipping underneath my duvet, longing for the comfort of cool, fresh sheets against my naked body. I curled up in the foetal position, only my head exposed to the air.

Breathe in. And out. In. And out. I closed my eyes, pleading for sleep. I was tired. But when I woke up in the morning, I was determined to put the horrible first day that I'd had behind me and start again as the strong woman that I knew that I was. That I'd always had to be. Finally, my breathing became shallow, and I drifted into the slumber that I so desired.


End file.
